CHAPTER XII.
MARTIN'S LUCK TURNS.
Martin continued to watch for an hour or two, sitting in a door-way. Atlength he was forced to conclude that Rufus had given him the slip, andthis tended by no means to sweeten his temper. In fact, his position wasnot altogether a pleasant one. It was now past midnight, and, having nomoney, he saw no other way than to spend the night in the street.Besides he was hungry, and that was a complaint which was likely to getworse instead of better. As for Rufus, Martin had never before seen himso well dressed, and it seemed clear that he was prospering.
"He's an ungrateful young rascal," muttered Martin,--"livin' in ease andcomfort, while I am left to starve in the street!"
It would have been rather hard to tell what Rufus had to be gratefulfor, unless for the privilege which he had enjoyed for some time ofhelping support his step-father; but Martin persuaded himself that hewas ungrateful and undutiful, and grew indignant over his fanciedwrongs, as he lay back in discomfort on the stone step which he hadselected as his resting-place.
The night passed slowly away, and when the morning light came Martin gotup very stiff and sore, and more hungry than ever, and began to wonderwhere he was likely to get any breakfast. Begging seemed to him, on thewhole, the easiest way of getting along; but it was too early for that.After a while, however, the street began to be peopled, and he walked upto a gentleman who was approaching, and, assuming a look which hethought indicative of wretchedness, whined out, "Would you be willing tohelp a poor man, sir?"
The gentleman stopped.
"So you are poor?" he said.
"Yes," said Martin, "I have been very unfortunate."
"Why don't you work?"
"I can't find any work to do," answered Martin.
"Haven't you got any friends to help you?"
"They've all turned against me," said Martin. "Even my own children haveturned me out of the house to shift for myself."
"How old are your children?" asked the other.
Martin hesitated, for this question was a little embarrassing.
"One of them is sixteen," he said.
"A son?"
"Yes."
"Did you support him, or did he support you?" was the natural inquiry.
"I supported him," said Martin; "but he's an undootiful, ungratefulscamp, and--"
"Then it appears that he has relieved you from taking care of him, andyou have only yourself to provide for. It appears to me that you oughtto get along better than before."
"If I could get any work."
"What sort of work do you want to do?"
"If I had a few dollars I could set up in some light business."
"You will have to apply elsewhere for the money, my friend," said thegentleman. "To be frank with you, your appearance doesn't speak in yourfavor;" and he walked on.
"That's the way the rich and prosperous treat the poor," soliloquizedMartin, feeling that the whole world was in a conspiracy against him.Those who undertake to live without work are very apt to arrive at suchconclusions.
Martin concluded, on the whole, that he wouldn't refer to being turnedout of his house next time, as it might lead to embarrassing questions.
He approached another gentleman, and began with the same appeal forassistance.
"What's the matter? Can't you work?" was the reply.
"I've had a severe fit of sickness," said Martin, forcing a cough; "andI'm very feeble. I haint had anything to eat for twenty-four hours, andI've got a wife and five little children dependent on me."
"If that don't bring something," thought Martin, "nothing will."
"Where do you live?"
"No. 578 Twenty-Fourth Street," answered Martin, glibly.
Now the individual addressed was a gentleman of leisure, of aphilanthropic turn of mind, and one who frequently visited the poor attheir homes. Martin's story seemed pitiful, and he concluded to inquireinto it.
"I'm sorry for you," he said. "I'll go round with you and see yourfamily, and see what can be done for them."
This was just what Martin did not want. As the family he spoke of wasentirely imaginary, it would only result in exposure and disappointment.Yet he knew not how to refuse.
"I'm much obliged to you, sir," he said. "I'm afraid it would be toomuch trouble."
"No, I've nothing pressing for an hour. I always like to relieve theunfortunate."
"What shall I do?" thought Martin, as he walked by the side of thebenevolent stranger. At length an idea struck him.
"It isn't everybody that would be willing to risk going with me," hesaid.
"Why not?"
"They'd be afraid to come."
"Why? What danger is there?"
"My third child is 'most dead with the small-pox," answered Martin, witha very dejected look.
"Good heavens! and I might have carried the infection home to mychildren," exclaimed the stranger, in excitement.
"Then you won't go with me?" asked Martin.
"Here," said the gentleman, producing fifty cents, "here's a littlemoney. Take it, and I hope it'll do you good."
"I reckon it will," thought Martin, as he took the money. "It'll buy mesome breakfast and a couple of cigars. That's a pretty good idea, havin'a child sick with the small-pox. I'll know what to do next time anybodywants to go home with me."
As soon as Martin found himself in funds he took measures to satisfy hisappetite. He really had not eaten anything since the middle of the dayprevious, and felt that he could do justice to a substantial breakfast.He walked along until he came to a restaurant where the prices seemed tobe reasonable, and went in. Seating himself at one of the tables, hegave his order, and presently a plate of meat and cup of coffee wereplaced before him. To these he devoted himself with such vigor that theywere soon despatched. Still Martin's appetite was not satisfied. Much ashe wanted a cigar, the claims of hunger were imperative, and he orderedbreakfast to the extent of his resources.
Opposite him at the table sat a man of middle age, with bushy whiskers,and a scar on his left cheek. He wore a loose sack coat, and a velvetvest. His thick, bunchy fingers displayed two large, showy rings, setwith stones, probably imitation. He finished his breakfast beforeMartin, but still retained his seat, and watched him rather attentively.Martin was too busily engaged to notice the scrutiny to which he wassubjected. After sitting a while the stranger drew out a cigar, and,lighting it, began to smoke.
This drew Martin's attention. As the flavor of the cigar, which was avery good one, reached his nostrils, he began to feel a regret that hehad not reserved a part of his funds for the purchase of a cigar. Hisopposite neighbor observed his look, and, for a reason which willappear, saw fit to gratify Martin's desire.
"I don't like to smoke alone," he said, drawing another cigar from hispocket. "Won't you have a cigar?"
"Thank you," said Martin, eagerly accepting it. "You're very kind."
"Don't mention it. So you like to smoke. Light it by mine."
"Yes," said Martin; "I like smoking; but I'm a poor man, and I can'tafford to smoke as often as I want to."
"Been unfortunate?" said the stranger, suggestively.
"Yes," said Martin, "luck's been ag'inst me. I couldn't get work to do,and my family turned ag'inst me because I was poor. I've got twochildren living on the fat of the land, but one of 'em refused me adollar last night, and left me to sleep in the streets."
"That's bad," said the other.
"He's an undootiful son," said Martin.
"Better luck by and by," said the stranger. "Luck'll turn, it's likely."
"I wish it would turn pretty quick," said Martin. "I've spent my lastcent for breakfast, and I don't know where I'm to get my dinner."
"The world owes every man a living," remarked the stranger,sententiously.
"So it does," said Martin. "I don't see what's the use of bein' born atall, if you're goin' to starve afterwards."
"Very true. Now I'll tell you what my principle is."
"What is it?"
asked Martin, who was becoming interested in hiscompanion.
"If the world owes me a living, and isn't disposed to pay up promptly, Ithink it's perfectly right for me to collect the debt any way I can."
"So do I," said Martin, though he didn't exactly see the other's drift.
"For instance, if I was starving, and my next neighbor was a baker, andhad plenty of bread, the law of self-preservation justifies me in takinga loaf."
"Without payin' for it?"
"Yes; if I haven't got any money to pay. I'm entitled to my share offood, and if others keep it from me, I have a right to help myself,haven't I?"
"That's so," said Martin; "only it's dangerous."
"Of course there is a risk about it; but then there's a risk instarvin', isn't there?"
"I should think there was," said Martin.
"I thought we should agree pretty well. Now tell me what you propose todo. Perhaps I can assist you."
"I don't know what to do," said Martin. "I can't get work. What do youdo?"
"I'm in business," said the stranger, evasively.
"Couldn't you give me a chance,--that is, if it aint hard work? I aintso strong as I was once, and I aint fit for hard work."
"Well, perhaps I may be able to do something for you," said thestranger. "If you'll walk with me a little way, we'll smoke anothercigar, and talk it over. What do you say?"
Of course Martin accepted the proposal with alacrity. He did not want togo back to his work as a carpenter, having lost all relish for honestindustry. He would rather beg, or do anything else for a living. He hada very indefinite idea of the nature of the proposal which was coming,but, whatever it might be, he was not likely to be shocked at it.
"Here, give me your check," said the stranger.
He paid, therefore, for Martin's breakfast as well as his own, leavingthat gentleman's fifty cents intact. Martin was not used to suchattention, and appreciated it. For the first time he began to think thathis luck had really turned.
The two went out into the street together, and were soon engaged inearnest conversation.